blowfish | IC CONTACT

Well. [Another awkward huff of laughter. He seems to have no shortage of those today.]

Think we already kinda broke the seal on that one, didn't we? I mean, you know what I am. You know what I do. There's... not a whole lot else that'd probably shock you. But... you're welcome to ask, if you want.

[It's all a lie, of course. There's so much more than Jesse could probably fathom-- things that would probably lower Wade significantly in his eyes if he knew. Better, he thinks, to just play it off as if he's got nothing more to hide.]

[ Where does he even start? He's reluctant to go backwards, though he does have about a hundred burning questions in his mind when it comes to expanding on Wade's nightmarish past. The key word there: nightmarish. ]

Did you become a hitman right away? [ Better, for right now, to go forward. Jesse takes a seat on one of their beds and looks up at Wade with his attention fixed on the answer. ] After, um, escaping.

[ He can barely fathom what he's already heard. It's incredible to Jesse, the extent of what he did not know. His voice wilts sadly at the end. ]

Uh... I kinda prefer the term mercenary, actually. Think I might've told you that before-- killing people's only one of the things I'm hired to do. But uh... [It would be easy to claim that Weapon X's treatment of him was what started him on the dark path as a contract killer. But he and Jesse have been friends for far too long for him to lie about something like that now. He sighs, the sound seeming to take a great amount of strength out of him.]

...I always was a mercenary, Jesse. Aside from some paper route jobs I took when I was little, that was my first real career. That's what I meant when I said I developed a taste for bloodshed. There wasn't a long path to the dark side-- I took one hell of a short cut. Wouldn't have even made for an hour-long movie.

Edited 2014-12-28 19:44 (UTC)

[ Mercenary, contract-killer, hitman. A stickler for a title preference and a taste for bloodshed. He's sure there's a lot more that goes into the job, it's just-- Wade sounds like he's trying to move that part of his life down to a mere bullet-point on his resume.

And considering his wealth of experience, he probably knows best where it should fit. What Jesse thinks about what he's hearing is unclear, for once. He stares at him with little more than a curious furrow in his brow. ]

Ah, got it. [ Well, it was the same for him. He just tripped straight into the shit pile and kept going from there. ] You 'an me got that in common, sorta-- always was a criminal. Don't really got a preferred term.

[It pains Wade to hear Jesse talk about himself that way, not in the least because it sounds familiar to his own views of himself. Wade's played the course enough to know that there is a difference between people who do criminal activities and actual criminals.

What Jesse doesn't know is that Wade has stayed his hand many times when faced with someone who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd gotten in trouble for it-- had put himself in danger a few times from his clients because he'd done a job incorrectly or not at all. Lost a lot of money on those jobs, as well, but really-- what was worth more than a good night's sleep?

He doesn't say any of this, though. If Jesse's anything like him, a few paltry words wouldn't be enough to cut through the putrefied wall of self-loathing that had formed around his suffering. His hypocrisy only goes so far, after all.]

How'd you get into the business, then? If you don't mind me asking.

Three guesses. I wasn't what you call a model student. [ Scoffin'. ] Didn't really see myself goin' nowheres after graduation, so I had these connections I used to start selling my own crank. Only, it was... ah, uninspired. Nothin' big-time, nothin' that was gonna turn heads. I just wanted to make a quick buck. It worked okay, for a little while.

[ He pauses for a sigh, as if on cue. ]

One day the DEA busts down our operation. Lost my money, my lab, my partners. But-- get this, my old Chemistry teacher? From like, High School? He saw me, you know, fleeing the scene. He follows me home and tries to cut a deal with me. Says he wants in on the business. Says if I don't agree to cook crystal with him, he'll turn my deadbeat ass in.

[ Now he knows why Wade took the opportunity. It does feel good to get this stuff off your chest, with someone you know you can trust. ]

So, 'course, I do. After that, things kinda... escalated.

[Wade immediately wrinkles his nose in disgust.]

So wait, this chemistry teacher... actually blackmailed you into cooking meth with him? What the fuck, dude? That's the shadiest shit I've ever heard!

[But he wants to hear more. This is the first time he's been able to get any sort of backstory out of Jesse, and like the drugs the kid's been selling, it's highly addictive.]

...Escalated how, exactly?

Well, uh, he needed an "in", and fast. Dude's workin' with a limited time-frame.

[ Like Wade's words flipped a switch, he goes from brash to contemplative, softening up quite a bit. Jesse leans back against the wall and fiddles with his hands in his lap. ]

Didn't know it at the time, but he had his reasons. That's, that's part 'a why things, like, escalated.

[ Gesturing a little helplessly. How to explain everything that happened, neatly and without sharing too much of what Mr. White would consider unsharable personal details? Even now, even here, he can feel a prickle of apprehension thinking about how pissed Mr. White would be. ]

Mr. White-- my teacher, he knew how much cash he needed. Had it worked out, like, mathematically an' everything. We had to go flyin' head-first into new territory to make those kinda stacks and neither of us had the street-cred for it. But Mr. White's a chemistry genius, right? So me an' him are able to cook up our own signature product. I could still make it, if I had the right stuff.

[ A little antsy, admitting that. If he could, he probably would. Just to use. Haven is the perfect place for a relapse. ]

[Jesse's not telling him the whole story. Wade doesn't know enough to read between the lines of the Cliff Notes version of Jesse's life before Haven, but he knows that he's leaving out a lot. It stings, knowing that Jesse doesn't trust him enough with the details, and he feels guilty for thinking that way. After all, didn't he play his own cards close to the vest out of fear of what Jesse would think of him? So he merely sighs, and nods, and fights to keep the hurt out of his voice.]

You two were partners, then. [A safe, noncommittal answer.] What was he like? Your "Mr. White"?

[ It isn't that he doesn't trust Wade. It's the thought of Mr. White's judgment that is making his cautious. Which is pretty dumb, if he thinks about it. He hasn't seen him in all this time and doesn't expect to anytime soon.

It's not difficult to pick up on that shift in tone. He turns his head and sets his eyes on Wade. He blinks through a tinge of regret. There was little to no skimping on details when he asked. ]

Hey, man, I'm sorry, [ sighed. Jesse sits up and continues into a more heartfelt explanation. ] Thing of it is, he has cancer-- too. Lung cancer. So he's all desperate to turn serious coin for his family before he kicks it. That's his deal.

[ While looking at Wade and hearing the word spoken in the context of this conversation, it's the first time he realizes it-- he switched partners. Somewhere along the way. A pause, one where he considers that and tries to mitigate the affected look that comes with it. ]

Um, [ suddenly fiddling with a crease in the sheets, he looks down. ] He, like...

He's smart. Really smart. He was always comin' up with these plans to get us outta shit. He just knew stuff, all kinds of stuff. A giant hardass, like, you would not believe. We're not always on the best, uh, terms, but after a while I started thinkin'-- this is the only guy who knows what I am and doesn't care. He needs me, you know? For better or worse.

What you are. [The phrase, however innocuous, sets off warning bells, and it's all he can do to repeat it in a low, deadpan expression. It's almost as if his emotions have once again been wiped clean. Providing for one's family until the moment of death was a noble cause-- much nobler than his own method of breaking off ties so that his girlfriend didn't have to bear the burden of taking care of a weakened and dying man. But there's just something about this story that doesn't sit right with him. Jesse's expression is not filled with pride when he says that his partner is smart-- it's almost as if he's anticipating a blow.

Wade lets loose with another sigh. The only guy who knows what I am.]

Y'know, kiddo... I think you're gonna have to explain to me what you mean by that.

[ Wade's tone of voice does catch him off-guard. As does the follow-up inquiry. ]

It's not obvious? [ A small, only semi-nervous scoff. ] A drug-using, drug-dealing, murdering piece of crap.

[ It's not easy to admit the string of truths there. Jesse approaches it fearlessly anyway, like he has decided this a long time ago and there's very little that will change his mind. Unstable emotions aside.

There's no I put down a dog with Wade, who would see right through that even if he was interested in furthering the pretense with him. ]

I mean, so is Mr. White. We're the same.

[The most shocking thing about Jesse's confession is the realization that deep down, a part of Wade had already known this. Jesse had danced enough around the subject; had been so brashly, brazenly open with his own checkered past that it was rather easy to tell that he'd been up to a lot worse than just dealing drugs. Wade supposes he just wasn't ready to listen-- wasn't ready to accept that this intelligent, sensitive, kind young man had a stain on his soul that matched Wade's own.

He's ready to listen now. His voice is cautious; his expression devoid of anything but an almost clinical interest. The mask helps in that, as it always has.]

...You killed someone. [It isn't a question.]

[ "You don't have the stomach for murder", he'd said a short while ago. With the level of detachment present in Wade's demeanor, he almost wonders if the other is finished with him. It'd make him a huge hypocrite, but hey. Stranger things exist. ]

Uh huh. [ Admitted with a swipe of his fingers over his eyelid. ] The start of it, I'm sure.

[ Scraping by on self-defense doesn't make the blood that was shed before any less real. Their very first real dilemma was a spare live body. One of their attackers, but a live person-- neither of them had wanted to deal with that responsibility. ]

[Wade can't claim to be anything else but a hypocrite. After all the stuff he's pulled in his life, he's got no call to judge anyone for their transgressions. That's not what he's doing. Like Jesse, he's merely curious, wanting to know the truth from what he hopes is an objective perspective. The question he poses now is insensitive at best, completely heinous at worst. But Jesse already knows that he's not a good person, and besides, he wouldn't be asking this question if there weren't some sort of lesson to be found here.]

Okay if you tell me a bit about it? How it went down? That's not really somethin' you tend to forget.

[Unless you're me.]

...ah, no, I don't-- [ As much as he cares about Wade and wants to be honest with him here, he can feel his throat closing up on him already. ] I don't really wanna get into it. It was just... he knew too much.

[Wade winces, feeling an actual pang on his chest at the way Jesse's voice tightens over the words.]

Sorry, sorry. That was a really shitty thing for me to ask.

[He hates himself for asking. He knows that Jesse will probably be resentful of him for asking too. But as contrite as he is, he still wants to know. He's desperate to understand. Is Jesse damned to follow the same path he's walking, or is there still hope for him?]

It's just that... I know what it's like. For me, anyway. I just... kinda wanted to see-- y'know what? Forget it. It was stupid of me. I'm sorry.

[ It doesn't help that he's sending mixed messages; Jesse considers himself damned. There's a lackadaisical quality that comes with accepting that, but the second Wade asks him to go into detail, he's anything but. That has to be confusing for somebody used to killing. ]

No, it's... [ It makes sense, why Wade would ask. His voice remains hoarse. ] I get it. It's fine.

[ Hazarding a guess, Wade's probably curious to know if Jesse's kills measure up. How he did it, why he did it and how he feels about it-- those details must matter, though he's convinced himself the act is the beginning and the end. ]

You said that you, um, you didn't feel anything for the guy, not even the first time. I guess it wasn't the same for me. Is that what you're askin'?

[ Keep it together. ]

[Those details do matter. When it comes to someone like Jesse, those details are the only things that matter to Wade. Before he puts a big red "MURDERER" stamp on Jesse's file, he needs to know the how and the why.]

I... yeah. That's pretty much what I'm asking.

[He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.]

...You can ask me how it was with me, if you want. Probably your turn in the Q&A session, anyway.

[ He looks pointedly at the ground while listening to that sigh. Maybe he doesn't get it. Maybe listening to Wade talk about his is what he needs to get it. ]

So how was it?

[Wade sighs again, scratching his cheek with a finger. His voice takes on a distant, faraway tone, as if he's telling the sort of story that starts with "once upon a time".]

It was just after Boxing Day, I think. I don't remember the exact date-- only that it was cold. Bitter. The kinda cold that makes your lungs hurt. I'd just gotten kicked out of another bar, I can't remember what for. Maybe 'cause I started a fight or somethin', I dunno. Doesn't matter. I was on my way back to my shitty basement apartment-- had to move out of my girlfriend's place after she broke up with me a few months before. An' all of a sudden I feel somethin' pokin' me in the back. At the same time, I heard this raspy voice in my ear: "All right, pretty boy-- empty those pockets."

[Wade pauses, letting out a quiet, mirthless chuckle.] I'd never been jumped before. It didn't seem real-- like I was watching a bad gangster movie or something. Dude didn't even sound hard-- he sounded like he was reciting lines from a play, and doin' a bad job of it, too. I almost started laughing, if you can believe it. That wouldn't have gone over too well.

I felt like I was in a dream, like I wasn't really there. I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. Looking back on it now... he was just a kid. I mean, he was older'n I was at the time, but I wouldn't put him as bein' much older than you are right now. His eyes were green-- just this bright, vibrant color green. [He blinks suddenly, as if he's surprised.] I never noticed that. All those years and I never noticed that until now.

It was pretty obvious that this was his first mugging-- the dude didn't even have a gun. What was sticking into by back through the pocket of his coat were his two fingers shaped to feel like a gun. I know I should've been scared anyway-- dude had at least fifty pounds on me-- but I wasn't. I felt weightless. I heard him tell me to turn out my pockets again, and then... somethin' just came over me. Just this like... sheer, unbridled rage. Guess it was 'cause I finally had an outlet for all the shit that was happening to me. I dunno.

[He stops and rubs his fingers across his covered lips, pointedly not looking at Jesse. It's as if the other man no longer exists-- as if he's telling his story to an empty room.]

[ Eighteen years old, he remembers from their previous conversation. He blinks up and listens to Wade tell the story with his attention completely fixed. A mugging, regardless of the severity of the threat, is a pretty damn good reason to fight back. Biased for the storyteller, he's ready to disregard the attacker.

But it's when Wade mentions his age and muses over those little details that Jesse starts to feel uncomfortable. He talks about it with ease, perfectly able to relive a detailed account. He doesn't falter or fall back on vague explanations. Unbridled rage-- his mouth thins as the pictures form in his head. He blinks again through a very thin film of water.

It's an intense retelling and he's listening closely, or maybe it's the ability to place himself in either position. People have gone after him and he's been after people. ]

So you just, [ he wets his lip. Only one thing he can ask, and he already knows the answer. ] Just took him out?

[ Was it easy? Bloody? You didn't flinch or feel scared, not even for a second? ]

[Why is it so hard to drag this story out of him now? Wade's never given much thought to his Start of Darkness or whatever the heck you wanna call it. Every comic book character has his origin story, after all. This is nothing new to him. He supposes it's because it's the first time he's ever told anyone about this, with no bullshit and no exaggerations. The honest truth. That's something he hasn't dealt with in a long time.

He sighs a third time; passes a hand over his head. The smile he gives to Jesse is wan and without humor. He's suddenly become very tired.]

I gave him what was in my pockets, just like he asked. My Swiss Army knife, right in his neck. Didn't even think about it, really. All the anger I felt just kinda... burst outta me in a tenth of a second.

[There is a long pause.]

...He didn't die quickly. Kept makin' this throaty gagging noise, like a dog choking on a bone. Finally he just collapsed on the sidewalk and kinda... writhed there, slowly. Five minutes. That's how long it took him to finally die. I could tell you that I was horrified; that I threw up immediately afterward or started havin' a panic attack because I'd killed someone. But I didn't. I wasn't horrified. I was... tired. The anger just drained out of me, and all I wanted to do was just go home and go to sleep. I watched him lying there in a pool of his own blood, struggling to breathe, and the only thought that was goin' through my head was: "I wish this son of a bitch would just die already."

[Wade finds himself nodding slowly, unable to meet Jesse's eyes. On his mouth is a sardonic smile, as if he's saying, "This is me. This is who I am underneath."]

It was only when he finally kicked the bucket that I started gettin' a little paranoid. I still felt oddly calm somehow, like this was just a dream I was having. I wiped my knife on his clothes as best I could and got outta that alleyway. Took the knife with me, too. Maybe that was why I didn't get caught.

[Another long, contemplative silence. He huffs out a laugh with no mirth.]

...So anyway. That's the story of Baby Wade's First Murder. Joined the army not long after that, I dunno why. Guess I figured that they couldn't net me for murder if I did service to my country or somethin'. I was kind of a stupid kid back then.

Edited 2015-01-08 20:51 (UTC)

[ After seeing the effect that telling this is having on him, Jesse feels a little bad about holding out on the guy. He furrows his brow during the pause, at the exhausted smile he can see crinkling the mask. It's especially annoying to him right now, that fucking mask-- if there are subtleties in Wade's expression he can't catch them.

He frowns. It doesn't sound a thing like the Wade he knows, but he doesn't disbelieve him. He even appreciates the no-bullshit approach. It's not easy to listen to, but he does appreciate the truth.

Even when it brings nothing but a hollow feeling. That's all? Just "I wish this son of a bitch would just die already" and a little paranoia about getting caught? Jesse struggles to relate and finds that he can't. ]

...you never regretted it? [ It's the first question that leaves him after silence punctuates the end of Wade's story. ] You never saw his, his face in your head, or had nightmares, or nothin' like that?

[The chuckle comes again, more forceful this time; more empty.]

That's just the kinda guy I am, kiddo. Just how I'm wired. If I let shit like that affect me, I couldn't do my job. Probably wouldn't have even chosen the life of a mercenary if I was that bothered by my first murder.

[He doesn't sound as if that would be such a bad idea. His voice is not necessarily regretful; merely... rueful, as if he's aware there's something wrong with him but unable or unwilling to find a way to change it.]

Can't go back now, anyway. Even if I did regret it, even just a little... this is my life now. This is who I am-- who I've been for as long as I can remember. It's not like I can just pack up and start a new life, y'know? Not with all the blood on my hands. I'm knee-deep in it now. Don't know how to be anything else. Don't even know if I wanna be anything else.

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